One day, when we were living at the house (not at our second
story apartment, fortunately), we heard something we couldn’t identify. It was as loud as Mojo’s tail-chasing
acrobatics - but different. It sounded
more like it does when he finds an open window and claws and scratches his way
underneath the blinds and onto window sill.
Oh no! I had washed the windows
and didn’t put the screens back in. Mojo
might run away if he gets outside.
I ran to the living room and saw Mojo walking away from the
window as if to say, “I didn’t really do that.”
That window is eight feet above the ground. I would love to have seen the stunt - Mojo jumping
(or falling) out the window, landing on some unstable iron chairs with
latticework seats, getting terrified, then leaping back up to the very high window
sill and grabbing on for dear life, dangling from his front claws, feet kicking, until he
could scramble back into the house. How did
he negotiate all of that without losing a toe on those lattice chairs? He’s getting too old for that sort of thing.
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